


Clues

by glacis



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An eavesdropper hears something he never expected, and acts on the results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clues

Clues, a Sentinel story by Glacis. Rated NC17, no infringement intended, just having a bit of naughty fun. The other side of James' proposal -- little angst, lots of sex.

 

He just had no clue. Blair Sandburg, intrepid anthropologist and police observer, Guide to the Sentinel and Shaman of the Great City by day … cruiser extraordinaire by night. Blair stuck his nose further in the Pepsi masquerading as rum 'n' coke and shook his head at his best friend's cluelessness. Jim was convinced that Blair was a horndog who'd jump a block of wood if it stood still long enough -- little did he know that horndog was one of the best obfuscations Blair had ever pulled off. Sure, he loved women. As people. As friends. As buds.

Men, he dug. Big time.

One man in particular.

One man who could pass for Poster Boy of Gay Men's Fantasies Everywhere. Or at least one gay man's. In Cascade. Seriously, did he think Blair jumped on guys built like tanks on a regular basis? Even if there was a large trash truck, imminent loss of a dissertation subject, and newly activated if as yet unrecognized Guide instincts involved? Puh-lease. Get a grip, big guy, he grumbled barely under his breath. And grab a clue.

Only jumped 'em like that when they were naked.

If you can’t shag the one you love, shag the one you're with. Dave was a good friend, and they'd been fuck buddies for years. But for the first time in his relationship with the other man, he was thinking of someone else as he paid his tab and followed his old friend out the door. Dave was only in town for another night before he shipped out, someplace in the middle east, Blair hadn't asked 'cause Dave couldn't tell. And he really wanted to spend some quality time with the guy, 'cause who knew when the next time might be that he would see him (and who knew where Dave was gonna find anybody interesting, and the right gender, in a stringently Moslem country? Blair didn't want to go there, either). But he had a nasty suspicion that this time, he better keep his eyes open, or they were gonna open a can of worms that was much better off with the lid clamped tight.

If only Jim had a clue.

 

It was a very good night for Detective James Ellison and the crew at Major Crimes. After nearly three months of good old fashioned digging for clues, they'd finally put a string of evidence together that would bust a major drug dealer red-handed. Well, considering the amount of heroin involved, **white**-handed. Whichever , he was guilty as sin and going down hard.

The operation was small, and quiet, only four of them surrounding the two ringleaders while six more went 'round the back of the quiet motel. Ryf and Brown, himself and Charters, in the front. They waited for nearly forty five minutes in as complete stillness as ten well trained professional police officers could manage. Which, to the common herd, was pretty damned quiet. To a Sentinel, it sounded like a bunch of elephants on the trail of The Peanut Holy Grail. Wishing vainly that he'd bullied Sandburg into **not** having dinner with his buddy and coming along on the bust, so he could block all this rushing blood and pumping heart crap out without zoning, he was contrarily happy that his Guide was, for once, not in the direct line of fire.

The first time he heard Blair's voice, he thought he was hearing things. Then he realized he **was** hearing things, although not hallucinating. Wondering how his partner had migrated from dinner at Angelo's to a motel room at Day's End, he happily tuned in to his Guide's well-loved (not that he would ever go there) voice in order to distract himself from all the racing pulses surrounding him before they drove him completely nuts.

Three minutes into eavesdropping he completely forgot the danger, the bust, Charters breathing down his neck, the whole damned world.

"So, what, you're gonna brew your own?" Blair's voice sounded slightly incredulous. "What'll they do if they catch you making booze in a place where it's totally verboten, man? Court-martial? Singe off your taste buds with a red-hot dagger?"

A rumbling laugh cut him off, and an unfamiliar bass voice answered. "Nah, hell, the CO runs the still. And it's not bad. But I'll think about that when I have to. 'Til then, I have one night left, and you are too far away, baby. And you have way too many clothes on!"

Jim nearly dropped his gun. Baby? Too many clothes? Who the hell **was** this guy? The rustle of cloth against skin, hair being shaken out, glasses being set on a hard surface tore him away from his crazily looping thoughts. He swallowed dryly, and thankfully for what was left of his peace of mind, the bust went down. Thankfully, also, they took the gangsters by surprise, there was no resistance, and Charters was gung-ho enough to go in first, because Jim was so distracted he completely forgot to take the safety off his gun.

 

Blair had forgotten just how good it felt to lie with a lover who knew him so well. He and Dave had been friends for over a decade, and part time lovers most of that time, and he reveled in rediscovering the freedom of sex with someone who cared about you, who **knew** you, without it being heavy.

Unfortunately, in the semidarkness of the motel room, Dave looked one hell of a lot like Jim. This didn't help the perceptual problems Blair was having reconciling current reality with on-going fantasy.

Problem : he was in love with Jim. Solution : short of running away, far and fast, which he found he couldn't do … ignore it. Problem : He'd never actually been in love with anyone before, so he wasn't sure how to go about ignoring it. Solution : look up an old friend and exhaust himself with a nice, friendly, mind-blowing session of sex. Problem : Every time he closed his eyes Dave mutated into Jim, only he smelled different. Solution : Keep his eyes and nose wide open. Problem : He was totally confused, for the first time in his life, between what he wanted (Jim, really, Dave, right now) and what he could have (Dave, certainly, Jim, who was he kidding?). Solution : … Solution : … Damned if he had a clue.

Shaking off the worthless thoughts, determined to enjoy his friend's company for as long as he had it and get back to worrying about the Problem of Loving Jim when he had nothing else on tap, he shrugged out of his clothes and bounced over onto the bed. Dave laughed.

"You look like a puppy," he grinned, and dove down to join Blair on the bed, tickling and tormenting the now-wriggling body, tussling and laughing together as they always had. Dave was bigger, but Blair was faster. As usual, the mock competition ended in a draw, with Blair lying full length under Dave and Dave giggling so hard he could barely hang on, and both of them totally turned on. Clothes flew off, lampshade was knocked askew, bed scooted three inches to the side, linens ended up in a clump on the floor. Lube was squeezed into little messy pools just about everywhere (including, somehow, in Dave's shoe). Every square inch of skin was licked and nipped and suckled, nipples were pinched, thighs were scissored apart, buttocks and sacs and balls were nibbled and mouthed, cocks were tongued until they were dripping, asses were gently, and not so gently, conquered. A good time was had by all.

Midway through his second orgasm of the night, somewhere on the periphery of his consciousness, Blair felt Dave stiffen, then relax again. When he floated back down into himself, satiated but oddly restless at the same time, he collapsed down and snuggled into his bigger friend's chest. Long, muscle-bound arms wrapped around him, cuddled him close, and settled him in for a bit of post-coital smooching. A soft mouth nestled through the curls at his ear, and Dave surprised the hell out of him.

"So," he asked reasonably enough, "who's Jim?"

 

The detective in question had managed, through some obfuscation of his own, to stick around the crime scene after the bust. After all, he reasoned, there might be something there he could, er, sniff out that would be useful. Ryf and Brown nodded uncomprehendingly, then shrugged and left it as Ellison being strange as usual. No hairboy to keep him in line. Charters was too happy about taking credit for the bust to care (well, he was new).

After they **finally** left, Jim settled back into the bushes, anchored one hand around a nice rough-barked bush to keep himself from zoning completely, and opened his ears up.

Then he closed them down a little, shook the pain out of his head, and tried again. Who'd've thought Blair was such a screamer?

They were … uhm … well … licking each other, he thought. But where? Knowing he was acting like a total voyeur, not quite understanding why he was doing this but knowing that only actual death would stop him at this point, Jim piggybacked sight onto hearing and narrowed in on a horizontal strip of accessibility between two drawn blind slats.

Holy shit.

He'd never actually **thought** about rimming, before. Oh, yeah, sure, he'd been a vice cop, and he'd been undercover, and he'd seen a lot … but this was Blair. HIS Blair. His Guide, his partner, his best friend, his … wonder what he tasted like. From the look of the hulking butch boy eating him so enthusiastically, pretty damned good. And if the way Blair was writhing and moaning was any indication, it was pretty damned good on the receiving end.

He swallowed twice before he had enough spit in his mouth that swallowing didn't hurt.

A couple fingers, there, lots of lube … whoever it was, he was taking care with Sandburg. Damned good thing, too, or he'd have to -- what exactly **was** the role of the Blessed Protector when the Blessed Protectee was being blissfully, consentually fucked into oblivion by an old friend who was a complete stranger to said Blessed Protector? Not to mention the havoc his own rather prominent erection was wreaking with his emotions.

Jim felt his neck heat up at the realization that he had the father of all woodies, watching this. And he still couldn't make himself stop.

He'd had no idea Sandburg liked dick.

A deep, shivery moan broke his train of thought, and he focused in on his own particular peep show to see Blair undulating madly between a big fist clamped around his spurting cock and a thick column of meat pumping balls-deep in his ass. An echoing moan forced its way out Jim's throat, and was lost in the night sounds around him.

So. Fucking. Sexy.

Hair sweat soaked, sprayed out around his head on the pillow. Jim was struck with an intense desire to see that particular sight against his own crisp linen pillowcase. His partner's strong arms flung above his head, fingers clenched around the headboard as he arched that solid body, drawn like a bow at full tension as he came, then collapsing, splayed across the thighs of the man still buried in him. Jim had to close his eyes, as adrenaline and pure lust turned him to concrete. A barking shout snapped them back open, and he saw Blair smile fuzzily up at the big man shooting into him.

Ellison's jaw clenched so tightly he could hear enamel cracking.

It should be him. Fuck this 'he's an old friend' crap. Blair was **his**. Or would be as soon as he got the chance to stake his claim. He started to rise, intent on staking that claim right then, when a charley horse in his calf stopped him. With his senses all dialed up on high and concentrated on spying on his Guide, the pain took him unaware and nearly crippled him. It was several moments of whimpered cursing under his breath and frantic digging massage with his fingers before he could move again. When he did, and he could see something past the red haze in his eyeballs, he nearly died.

That luxuriant fall of sable curls was groin level with the stranger, as Blair enthusiastically swallowed every one of what looked like a good eight inches. He moaned, softly, a fantasy he hadn’t even realized he had overlaying the scene in front of his eyes. Himself, flat on his back, Blair kneeling over him, that fucking fantastic hair wrapped around his cock as he pumped slowly, ever so slowly into the curling strands, clinging around the wet skin of his straining cock, a thousand, a million tiny fingers pulling at him … he jolted, reached down and pulled at his balls, determined not to come in his pants.

Forcing himself to look back, he lost his breath as the stranger pulled out, saliva, **Blair**'s saliva, glistening along his length, to shoot semen in long strings onto Blair's chest. It caught in the hair there, spattered up along his throat, as Blair knelt and grinned delightedly up at his lover. Then the other man's knees gave in, and he pinned Blair against the bed, lazily licking his own spendings from Blair's skin. Jim finally started to breathe again, but it was an effort.

Then Blair moved, tipping the bigger man over on his back and sliding his square, capable hands from ass to knees, opening the utterly relaxed man up to him. They were laughing, joking about Gumby and sticking like glue, as Blair probed the other man's ass with his fingers. Jim caught something about New Jersey tunnel, then Blair groaned as he slid his erection into the stranger's ass. Jokes aside, it had to have been tight, because Jim saw the flash of pain transform into raw pleasure on the bigger man's face. The need grew fierce in Jim to stop this, to claim Blair, to get his Guide out of there, and bury himself so far into his partner he'd never be able to get out again. As he was rising, on instinct again, to do just that, Blair arched between the stranger's spread legs, ground their pelvises together, and came hard, shouting one word.

Jim's legs folded under him and he sat down in the dirt, hard.

Well. Holy shit.

Some shuffling, rearranging, and friendly cuddling later, he heard a soft, concerned voice ask, "So, who's Jim?"

 

Blair sprawled comfortably in Dave's loose hold, laid his cheek against his friend's broad chest, and sighed. Sadly.

"My … roommate. My best friend," he continued softly, before speaking up again. "Look up 'arrow' in the dictionary and there's his picture, man. Military school, army special forces, police detective, gorgeous ex-wife, slept with everything from Mafia princesses to game wardens, but all of 'em chicks. No men allowed, you know? Oh, not that he's a 'phobe, he's just not interested."

"You sure about that?" Dave asked gently. Blair nodded, rubbing his face against his friend's skin, wiping away the sweat and some suspicious moisture that he refused to admit might be a tear or three.

"Yeah, 'fraid so. He's a … uhm, he's very observant. So I've kept it pretty well out of sight. I do **not** want to lose his friendship if he does find out and can't handle it. Too important to me to screw up."

"That sucks," Dave sympathized.

"Rocks," Blair agreed, then changed the subject before he could get too maudlin. "How much longer do we have, Dave?"

With an effort, the bigger man shifted his armful of Blair and scrabbled around to find his watch. It was hidden under a condom wrapper. He grinned. Blair grinned in return. It was so typical of their get-togethers. Talk about rock the house. Dave finally shook the wrapper off and fumbled with the watch until he could get a clear look at the face. When he did, he shot upward.

"Shit. I had no idea it was this late. I have to be at McChord at 0600." He slithered out from under Blair and scrabbled for his clothes. Blair propped himself up on an elbow and watched, snickering unhelpfully. Dave couldn't help but laugh back at him, shaking a fist in mock retribution.

With much laugher, several hugs and strong reminders to take damned good care of himself, Blair sent his old friend off. In the back of his mind, he knew it had been a good-bye fuck, and he knew Dave had known it too. He was just happy his own bad luck in falling for a straight guy hadn't ruined this night for both of them. Glancing around the room, he sighed, pulled his clothes on, and headed for the loft.

 

Jim heard Blair's wistful sigh as he dressed. The night had given him so much to chew on. He tracked his partner as the younger man walked moodily out to his car, parked behind a large Land Rover, which was why Jim hadn’t noticed it earlier. He shook his head, watching the taillights disappear onto the highway.

So. The kid thought he was hopelessly straight. When he got it wrong he **really** got it wrong. How had he never noticed that Blair wanted him? Wasn't he a Sentinel? Couldn't he smell pheromones, for god's sake? What, did he look so damned butch the kid was intimidated into not even **thinking** about it? Well, that was NOT who he was, and it was about time Sandburg learned the error of his ways. It was the person who was important, not the parts, and his Chief had been the most important person in his life for almost three years. Grinning with anticipation, he climbed into his own truck and headed toward home.

As he quietly opened the door, he heard the water running in the shower. He'd told Sandburg before they'd both left that evening that he didn't expect to get in before five, since the bust hadn't been expected that particular night. So Blair would think he was all alone. Jim wanted it to stay that way, at least for a little while. He crept along the hall to the bathroom, cracked the door open just far enough to see inside, and decided on his course of action. Blair unconsciously made it incredibly easy. With the events from earlier in the evening clear in his mind, Jim knew just exactly how he was going to convince his partner that he was wrong about them not having a chance.

Blair had his back to the door, facing the back of the shower. His left leg was straight, his right bent, the toes of his right foot stuck into the soap dish halfway up the stall to give himself easy access. His left hand was braced against the wall, the right was soaping between his legs, running the foamy cloth over his sac, back along his perineum, up the cleft of his buttocks, over his anus and back down. His head was thrown back, eyes shut as he enjoyed the sensation of soothing cleansing over tender skin. Jim zeroed in on the motion, then followed the trail of falling water with his eyes, up the creamy-skinned back to the broad shoulders, wet curls clinging to the skin between Blair's shoulder blades, then back down over the curve of ass to the strong thighs spread so conveniently apart.

He dropped his clothes in the hallway, and stealthily crept into the bathroom. Before Blair was even aware there was someone else in the room with him, Jim was kneeling between Blair's spread legs. His left arm curved around Blair's left thigh, holding him still as he started, keeping him from moving or overbalancing. Jim's right hand slipped between the parted thighs to cover Blair's burgeoning erection, and his face moved unerringly toward the clean pink skin between Blair's ass cheeks.

A muffled squeak above his head was quickly reduced to an incoherent gurgle as he put his lips, tongue, fingers and palms to work. The bunched muscles under his left hand quivered with strain and the cock under his right leapt to fullness as he milked and squeezed it. The muscle pulling at his tongue felt like a tiny, slick mouth, and the heat it gave off was amazing. The combination of soap and herbal shampoo and musk made Jim dizzy. The taste was incredible, dark and concentrated Blair, and he nearly zoned on it, **would** have zoned on it if not for the feeling of pre-ejaculate oozing over the hard ridged cock under his hand, the soft, breathless, inarticulate moans choked off, floating over his head, teasing his ears. He had to close his eyes or lose his control completely, and he wasn't going to do that just yet.

Feeling the spasms around his deeply-delving tongue begin, he slid sideways and curled down onto his hip, pulling Blair's cock straight down and pushing his head up to meet it. From this angle he could take the whole length deep into his throat, and the sudden heat and strong sucking knocked Blair completely off-kilter. Coming suddenly, he bent over at the waist, trusting his Jim to hold him upright, fucking straight down into the throat offered up to him. As he came, Jim's right hand slid back from his balls to his anus, thrusting in deep in perfect time to his convulsions. Blair screamed with all the breath he had, which by that time wasn't much. It came out a soft, startled whimper, loud as a scream to Sentinel ears.

Jim concentrated on swallowing every drop, then slid all the way through Blair's legs and put his arms out to catch the smaller man as Blair collapsed on top of him. Soft genitals brushed past his as the warm weight settled on him, then he guided Blair to a stop curled up in his lap. Blair's heavy head lay pillowed against his thigh. Those wet curls reached out and wrapped around his aching cock and he thrust twice, all the extra stimulation he needed after the incredible sensory input he'd already gotten that night. The orgasm blew him apart, and when he came back to himself he looked down to see Blair dreamily sucking on a long lock of semen-coated hair. A painful jolt went through his exhausted body, but while the spirit was willing the flesh was all pumped out. Jim reached out with trembling hands and angled Blair's head up to face him, allowing the still-falling shower water to rinse the mess from his hair.

Blair looked drugged.

No wonder. It had been a hell of a night.

Jim smiled down at him and tried to find enough unfried brain cells to make a complete sentence. Blair grinned loopily, tiredly, at him, and squinted up at the shower head still raining on his skull.

"Getting cold, man," he slurred. Jim agreed. Silently, since his tongue still wasn't working.

Blair didn't know quite when fantasy had so fantastically become reality, but he wasn't about to fight it. Running his fingers, with great effort, through his hair, he determined that it was clean (enough) again, softer than it was using his usual cream rinse. Tasted loads better, too. Then he began to work on getting his half-comatose best friend out of the shower stall. Tough to do when he felt like he was made of cooked spaghetti himself.

With the teamwork that had marked their partnership from the beginning, well, after Jim stopped trying to slam him through the wall or sacrifice himself to garbage trucks, Blair and Jim managed to stagger out of the shower and dry one another off. Blair hesitated at the doorway to his room. Jim didn't, just reached out, caught him by the wrist and dragged him upstairs. Blair smiled dazedly, determined to have this all talked out as soon as he had his mind back from wherever it had been blown. Jim smiled at him as they fell into bed and curled around one another. Blair couldn't help smiling sappily back as his partner, now lover, nuzzled into the curls at the back of his neck and fell instantly asleep.

Feeling vaguely like Scarlett biting into a turnip, only with much better prospects, he knew that things had turned around, and he would never be hungry for Jim again. At least, not for very long, before he'd be satisfied.

All was right with the world. And all he had to do was figure out how it had gotten that way.

Tomorrow.

~F~I~N~


End file.
